


The Vestigials

by Ichigogalaxy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco, Healer Harry, M/M, Magically Powerful Draco, Sex Magic, mute draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:51:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ichigogalaxy/pseuds/Ichigogalaxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron is sent to an abandoned warehouse to respond to disturbances, only to get there and find Draco Malfoy, bloody, naked and surrounded by dead people. In comes Healer Harry, assigned to help him and figure out why Draco Malfoy has shown up in St. Mungo’s after he was supposed to be dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** [PROMPT #90](http://bottom-draco-comm.dreamwidth.org/21469.html) by applette_sue
> 
>  **Contains:** *Blood, language*
> 
>  **Author Notes:** So, I tried to make this story basically just as the prompter asked. There is of course the spin that I had to put on it. 
> 
> **Mod Notes:** Thanks to **snowgall** for the last-minute beta.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Vestigial Genes – Genes that have been left over and are now considered useless. These genes have direct ties to the origin of a species and their ancestors, but are now considered useless._
> 
>  
> 
> What is the origin of Wizards? Is there a way to tap into the being or entity that gave them their magic? Which of them have the closest ties to their ancestors? Who among them has the purest magical blood?

There is blood. He can feel it hot and slick on his skin, slowly drying to dust, and he could not be any happier. The ebbing of life around him is startling to the soaring of his heart, beating loud and strong, pulsing at his temples and throbbing in his neck. He looks around himself, at all of the bodies of those that he had wanted to kill for a very, very long time and feels nothing but joy. 

It is done.

He smiles as he sinks to the floor, knees splashing in the blood-soaked concrete, weak from all of the incredible magic he performed. The feeling of accomplishment should not be so important to him, considering what he has done. He has never believed himself capable of such a thing, but these people are the reason that he can do it now. He looks around in the austere darkness veiling his surroundings, the eerie quiet the only presence to keep him company.

He is free.

His breath quickens and he tilts his head back, his hair tickles his bare skin and graces the filthy floor. He is free. Trying to stand is a mistake, he can only manage a weak crawl on all fours. His arms shake and strain to hold him up and his body does not want to cooperate with his wishes. But he has to keep going. It is time for them to realize that they have awakened something within him that was never meant to be messed with, never meant to be touched or _tampered_ with. They raped his mind, forced their way inside him and turned him completely inside out, exposing his very soul to their greedy hands.

Draco laughs silently, until his lungs are straining and he is gasping and soon short of breath. His father has been right all along about their heritage and power, and look at where that got them. It is no matter. He is more than willing to use his power against them. The magic that is coursing through him has been with him and his family since the dawn of Wizards. Whether it is active or dormant has always been a nonissue. Pureblood families have consistently prided themselves on their lineage, and the Malfoys are no different. And those people have stripped him bare, exposing flesh never meant to see the light of day. 

His vision fades as rage eats his mind and chews at his heart. They will pay, he thinks as his lips twist into a nasty smile. If that is the last thing that he ever does, he will die knowing they got what they deserved. He is only partially aware of falling to the floor, the grit grinding into his soft cheek, red staining his pale skin. His revenge is clear in his mind as his body succumbs to exhaustion. Oh, yes, they will most certainly pay.

0~0~0

Ron walks quickly through the halls to the Head Auror’s office, absently nodding at people he passes. It is rare that he is pulled in to work on his day off, but he knows that Roberts wouldn’t do this to him if it wasn’t important. He is still slightly irritated that he couldn’t get anyone else to do whatever this is, though. It’s not like there isn’t an entire fleet of Aurors to choose from. He knocks briefly on the heavy mahogany door. He hears a faint ‘enter’ and steps inside. Roberts is frowning down at a file, his glasses so low on his nose they look ready to slide off of his face. He is still reading as Ron stands there waiting for him to say something.

“Sir?”

Roberts jerks in his seat and pushes his glasses back up his face.

“Ah, yes, Ron. Shut the door, if you please. I need to talk to you.”

Ron frowns as he closes the door and settles into the deep cushioned chair in front of the rather large desk. He watches as Roberts sets the papers down and leans back into his own chair, looking at him thoughtfully.

“Ron, when are you going to apply for the Head Auror position?”

He is taken aback at the softness in his voice. This is definitely not what he expected to be asked, but he smiles easily enough.

“As soon as you stop working so hard, we both know that you’re not ready to retire just yet.”

Roberts smirks, “That may be, but we’re both not getting any younger. And I know you’ve been eyeing this seat ever since we put you in the Aurors.” Ron chuckles. He knows that he should apply for the position, but he and Hermione are thinking of starting a family. They just aren’t sure if he should wait until after or just get on with it so he will have stability. But that is not what he came here on his day off to talk about.

“Sir, you know there’s more to it than that. But what was so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

Roberts clears his throat, “Straight to business as always.” He slides the report over to Ron to look over as he speaks. “Well, there have been some strange reports by Muggles in an old industrial district south of London. Strange lights and sounds don’t even begin to cover it. There are reports ranging from weird vibrations in the ground to the weather in the area changing in the blink of an eye.” Ron looks up sharply.

“The weather?” Ron asks.

“Yes, and all of this has been called in to the local police, but the nature of the eyewitness accounts naturally drew our attention. And this is not the first time that it has been brought to our attention, but it is the first time it has been brought to _mine_. Whatever is going on needs to be dealt with, or there may be a risk of exposure. I need you to take a team and check out the area by tonight. Also interview any Muggles that live in the nearby residential areas and have Obliviators on hand just to be safe.”

Ron nods as he reads the report more carefully. It is indeed strange and he personally would not leave it to an inexperienced Auror, especially since Muggles are involved in such a large area.

“Ron?”

He looks up, “Yes, I will be out as soon as I get my team assembled.” He stands and inclines his head before leaving the office, he has a lot to get done before they can even leave the Ministry. But he is ready. It is rare for such a serious situation to develop for this long without it getting the attention of the Aurors at some point. Ron knows that that is very strange and shakes his head as he heads to his office.

0~0~0

Later that night, he and six of their best Aurors, including his partner Michael Rhys, stand a ways back from an old abandoned warehouse. There is broken glass and debris all over the grounds, even as far back as the measly weeds growing in the cracks where they are standing. The gaping windows in the decrepit structure are darker than the surrounding night, like peering down the throat of a great open maw. Dead leaves scratching the hard concrete ground is the only sound to break the creepy silence, save for their quiet breathing. It feels like they are the only living things out there. This place seems like it has not seen life for some time; it makes Ron wonder if they actually got the right location. But he knows it is and motions for everyone to move in.

They carefully examine their surroundings as they slowly get closer to the building, but they are alone. There are no sounds or any signs of activity in the area. He suspects that it had been magically protected at one time, but not as thoroughly as it should have been. There is no presence of magic now.

Most of the entrances are sealed shut - great loading dock doors are what they see first - but the rust makes them impossible to open without making a hell of a lot of noise. Ron leads the way as he looks for a more practical way inside. He comes across a regular-sized door and gives it a push but it doesn’t budge.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” he whispers quietly. The door opens a fraction with a small click. Ron lets out a breath of relief and pushes it all the way open. The resulting groan and painfully loud squealing of the old hinges causes Ron to cringe as he waits for the sound to finish reverberating through the building. Fuck. If no one knew they were there before, they sure do now. They all brace for the ambush, but it never comes. Ron and his team cautiously tip-toe through the door even though they all have silencing charms on everything from their shoes to their rustling robes. 

They spread out and search the building, looking in every hole, nook and cranny. They find nothing. Ron begins to get irritated; just what the hell is going on here? The witness reports weren’t very detailed since they came from observations at a distance. He isn’t even sure what he should be looking for. He crouches low to the ground in some places and reaches high in others. Nothing. Just when he is about to go up to the other floors to see if anyone else has had better luck, he sees another door that he did not notice before. He frowns as he walks up to it. Was it spelled? He waves his wand and nods. There is a notice-me-not spell on it, which is more effective for Muggles, but a wizard will notice whatever is being hidden eventually. That tells Ron that wizards aren’t really expected to just come across this building randomly, which he wholly agrees with. He casts a _Finite_ and summons his team over. When the six of them are reunited, he opens the door, it thankfully not making the horrid sound the first door did. 

“Ugh!” he hears Michael say. Ron understands as he covers his nose. The stench wafting from the lower level is that of blood and death, still fresh. The metallic tang makes him want to gag, but he swallows past it and hurries down the stairs. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he has to strengthen his _Lumos_. They fan out, but really all they need to do is follow the smell. The underground space is vast, but they cannot make out many details in the darkness. Ron has a sense that it is not empty. There are indistinguishable shapes that when he comes closer, look like some sort of contraption that is impossible to determine the function of without proper lighting. Even then, he is pretty sure he will still not know.

He takes a few steps in an undetermined direction and almost trips over something. It is soft yet unyielding and Ron knows what it is before he lowers his wand. A body. But more than that, a body that is almost mutilated. He can hear gasps from the other Aurors and knows that they have made similar discoveries. He squats down, careful not to get too close or accidentally touch it again. It is a woman, he notes. Her long and curly black hair is matted and wild around her head. She is wearing a lab coat and Muggle clothes underneath. There are deep gashes across her front, like someone went wild with a knife and carved her up like a Christmas turkey. Her clothes are shredded and stained. Her arms are wide to either side. She was likely dead before she hit the ground, Ron notes grimly. Her death saddens him, even though he does not know why or exactly how she died, any death is a waste of life to him.

He brings his wand closer to her face; she was very pretty. Her very light brown skin reflects a youth that surprises him. She couldn’t have been older that twenty-three, same age as him. Now her skin has taken on a deathly shade, the texture resembling badly molded clay. He begins a more thorough exam when he hears one of his team - Jackson, he remembers - call out.

“Sir, this one’s alive!”

Ron and the others go to him and stop where Jackson is standing, several feet away from the person on the floor. There is a stench of magic pulsing off of him that makes him physically recoil, but he fights it. It is powerful and for a wild moment it reminds him of Harry. He remembers when Harry was getting stronger when they were on the run during the war and the power had made him jealous at first, but he quickly got over it. The power from this person is very different, but just as potent. He takes slow, deliberate steps forward, waiting for any sudden movements. When he is close enough, he casts a simple medical scan that all Aurors are trained in knowing. He finds no immediate damage. There are no bleeding flesh wounds or internal injuries that would make it dangerous for them to move him without a Healer on hand.

The person is naked. They have hair that is long and white which covers most of their body except for the long, pale legs. He slowly and carefully turns the person over, and it becomes clear that this person is male. He weighs surprisingly little, and looking at the long limbs, lighter than someone his height should be. He is warmer than Ron thought he would be considering he had no clothes on. But the blood - there is blood everywhere, coloring the man’s skin like some sort of morbid child’s hand painting. He performs another check to be doubly sure there are no physical injuries and comes up with the same result. He will still have to take him to St. Mungo’s because whatever is wrong with him, it is out of the scope of his meager healing spells. He addresses his team, who still have not moved any closer as he further checks the man.

“Michael, I need you to send a Patronus for Roberts to send the forensics team over. We need to get IDs on all of these people and figure out what the hell went on here. Then we need to get this person to St. Mungo’s before any -”

He stops. For some reason, he has a bad habit of looking at the face last. It is like he dreads knowing who is hurt or dead and waits until he can no longer avoid identifying the person. He was not expecting to know this man, but the face is undeniably one he knows all too well. He stares, quite unable to put the pieces together. Why is he here? _How_ is he here? He is supposed to be long dead, killed right after the war when the Aurors went on their manhunt for runaway Death Eaters. There is even a file on him, obituary and all, at the Ministry; he has even read it. So how the fuck is he lying here in front of Ron, alive, unconscious, covered in blood and surrounded by dead people? What’s _really_ going on here?

“Ron, are you all right? What is it? What’s wrong?”

He looks at Michael and shakes his head, still unable to believe the words he has to say.

“This,” Ron points to make sure they all know who he is talking about. “This is Draco Malfoy.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry groans as he sits in his office chair. He sweeps some papers aside before setting his third cup of steaming coffee down on the desk, taking a long pull of the scalding liquid before doing so. It is late and he has a shit-ton of things to do which he knows he won’t finish. He picks up a random sheet of parchment and grunts. Right, he can fill out the request forms for the potions he needs and send that off to the lab.

It has been a hellish week for him and all he wanted to do was crawl into his nice, soft bed and be unconscious for at least a few days. Thinking of his bed makes him long for it more, so he grabs his quill and starts writing. There are several prescriptions he has to give out to his patients, but there has been a lag in deliveries. He will have to go down to the labs again, and hound them for being so lackadaisical. He never would have expected this in a hospital.

But he loves it at St. Mungo’s, it has become a third home for him after Hogwarts and his own home. Despite the long grueling hours as a Healer, the rewards of seeing people back to health and making their lives that much better to live motivates him to do his best. Today is no exception. He finishes his forms and sends them through his outbox. A quick tempus charm shows it’s a few minutes past eleven. 

He nods to himself before pulling out a heavy medical book from his desk. He has time to do some research before he does his midnight rounds. After that, if all goes well, then he can head home. 

A few minutes into his reading, though, there is a knock on his door. It opens before he can even answer. A young Healer with sandy blond hair pokes her head in looking slightly out of breath.

“Healer Potter?” she says, the words coming out in a rush.

Harry stands, “Yes, Sarah?”

“There are a few Aurors that have Apparated into the lobby. Auror Weasley is there and he insists that only you take care of the patient he’s brought along with him.” She opens the door wider as he almost runs out of the office. There have been very few times since he has been a Healer that he was requested by Ron or the Aurors specifically. There are still times when it is more beneficial to the patient and the Ministry that Harry is the primary Healer. He wonders who it could be this time as he fidgets on the lift down to the lobby, irritated at how slow the stupid thing is going. He jumps off and nearly bowls someone over in the process. He excuses himself and hurries along.

When he gets there the first thing he sees is a small group of Healers and other staff around Ron and the Aurors. He pushes through them impatiently, and wonders why the hell they are standing there gawking. Once he sees the person that Ron brought with him, he understands.

An alien sensation courses through his body as he sees his school rival levitating in front of Ron, and it leaves Harry’s body frozen but his mind racing. He is unable to understand why he is seeing Draco Malfoy after all this time. He takes in the unfamiliar and familiar features that he knows so well. The slender, pointy body, more filled out now with sleek muscles but still too thin. His long, white hair drifting slowly in the air beneath him. The blood. There is so much of it that it makes him wonder why he isn’t handling this situation more professionally. Harry knows that he should have already been on his way to a hospital room. But he just can’t get his body moving.

Malfoy’s arm hangs at an awkward angle, so that the dark mark is stark and clear. The fact that he is a Death Eater is one thing, the fact that he is Draco Malfoy is another. Harry is literally seeing a ghost of his past; he doesn’t even want to believe his own eyes. He glances at Ron and knows that they are thinking the same thing. But for Harry, it is different. Malfoy is someone that has been in Harry’s life since he was eleven. Even though that relationship consisted of constant fighting and taunting, they still knew each other. Harry remembers almost every encounter they ever had, up to and including Malfoy’s funeral, which he had personally attended. Harry was told that Malfoy had died while being captured. This was the official report put out by the Aurors and the Ministry. The fact that Malfoy is clearly alive and that Harry had been lied to draws out a deep, boiling anger. He feels as if he has been betrayed. He steps forward and conjures a stretcher.

“Set him down there, Ron and come with me please.”

He glares around at the group of people still standing there. His anger must have shown, because they abruptly turn around and get on with their own business. He takes Malfoy deep in to the Hospital for the most protection, where the wards are older and stronger. Harry knows that there will be some sort of uproar in the Wizarding community at the fact that a previously-presumed-dead Malfoy was found from wherever the hell he’s been. Word getting out from St. Mungo’s is close to impossible since everyone who works here is bound to a patient confidentiality agreement, so he trusts most of the staff. They will not be able to speak to third parties about any of the patients unless it is family or for legal reasons. But right now, he is not going to take any chances.

Once they reach a fully equipped room, Harry motions for Ron to stand off to the side as Harry slowly transfers Malfoy’s limp body to the bed.

“ _Tergeo_ ,” he murmurs. Right away, all of the unsettling blood is gone from Malfoy’s skin. He would have to question Ron about how exactly the hell _that’d_ happened.

After Harry is satisfied with that, he swiftly immerses Malfoy in a soft glow of blue light with a practiced wave of his wand. The spell tells Harry basically what is wrong with the person. Unease begins to crawl through his gut from what the spell is telling him. There is a strange aura around him that he had felt before, but only notices now that he is focusing on it. Malfoy’s magic seems to pulse and throb within him, almost like it is trying to let itself be known; like it’s alive. Harry has never felt anything like it. He is both intrigued and terrified by it. The magic is not exactly threatening, but it isn’t pleasant either. His eyes dart over the slender legs, taut abdominal muscles and flat chest, which slowly rises and falls to his soft breathing. Nothing about him even suggests that there is this powerful magic practically wanting to jump out of his body.

The only real reason that Harry can tell as to why Malfoy is unconscious is that he’s physically exhausted. His body has simply shut itself down in self-preservation. On top of all that, he is extremely malnourished. Harry summons a replenishing potion and carefully pours the thick liquid between his lips. Harry has rarely been this close to him before, unless they were in each other’s faces getting ready to fight. He notices that Malfoy is certainly older than he was in school, as they all are. But there is this youthfulness, almost innocence, about him that Harry didn’t expect. The long hair, pale lashes resting on round cheeks, and his nakedness probably have something to do with that, and Harry realizes he should do something about it. He conjures another blanket to cover Malfoy’s exposed skin, and for one insane moment, he is slightly disappointed. _Get it together, Harry_ , he tells himself, as he straightens up once the potion is gone. Harry casts a warming spell on him before turning to Ron, who has remained quiet the entire time. Ron still looks as shaken as Harry feels about all of this and they just look at each other.

“How the hell -?” Harry starts. But Ron is already shaking his head.

“I have no clue, Harry. None. Roberts sent me to an industrial district because there had been a lot of Muggle complaints, and when we investigated the building, we found everyone dead except for _him_ ,” he says, jerking his chin towards the bed.

“But, I mean, _how_? How could he have been alive all this time? Obviously somebody knows something!” Harry is outraged. Ron keeps shaking his head slowly, like he, too, is utterly dumbfounded.

“What I _do_ know is that Roberts is going to flip his shit. I still haven’t been back to the Ministry; I just know that this shit’s about to go down once I do. Is there any way that I can talk to him to get a better idea as to what happened?” Ron asks.

Harry eyes Malfoy; there is more color to his skin now that he has gotten the nutrients he needs. Harry knows that real food and care is needed to bring him back to full health. So he nods and flicks his wand to dispel the blue glow around him. 

“ _Rennervate_ ,” he says. Even though they are ready for it, both Harry and Ron are startled when Malfoy pops open his eyes and frowns as he takes in his surroundings, not quite understanding where he is. His eyes finally dart over to Harry and Ron, who are standing at the foot of the bed. Harry still can’t quite believe he is seeing his pale gray eyes, because he simply never expected to see them again. When Malfoy sees them hovering there, his frown deepens; Harry sees fear and confusion seep through his expression and he rushes over without thinking.

“Malfoy, it’s alright. It’s me, Harry. And Ron -” he says as he reaches a hand out, meaning no harm, but Malfoy backs away and there is a quiet gasping noise coming from him. Harry immediately snatches his hand away and steps back, guilty for frightening him, but also bewildered that it happened in the first place.

“Malfoy, do you remember us?” Harry is frankly getting scared by his behavior. He is as skittish as a startled doe, his eyes are wide and his breathing quick and shallow. Any thoughts of Malfoy being a rogue and dangerous Death Eater are simply absurd.

Malfoy nods in response to his question. They are both relieved. It is a long and delicate process for retrieving memories, if they are recoverable at all. Harry doesn’t want to think about that, so he takes a cautious step forward. Malfoy still seems to be on guard, but not as scared as before. Harry takes that as a good sign.

“Do you remember what happened to you?” Harry asks. It takes a while, but eventually there is a small nod and Harry smiles. He doesn’t know why, but he is relieved that they are communicating normally and not sniping at each other’s throats. He hears Ron shuffle closer.

“Is there any way you could tell us what happened?” Ron asks; he doesn’t get too close. They both wait as Malfoy eyes them for a moment. Then he opens his mouth, but there is a weird choking sound that comes out. He frowns and clears his throat before trying again. It is the same result. He glances at Harry, slightly disappointed before looking down at the blanket covering him. He doesn’t move again.

Then Harry realizes, “You can’t speak, can you?”

Malfoy just gives him a look, like _obviously_ he can’t. Harry pulls out his wand, then hesitates. “May I?” He always asks when the patient is aware of what’s going on. Malfoy nods. Harry localizes a healing spell to his throat, frowning as he looks for the problem. But he can’t figure out what is wrong; there is no damage to his throat. He quits the spell and stares down at Malfoy, looking into his clear eyes. He would need more time to figure this out. But one thing is obvious, the issue is either psychological or neurological. If it is the latter, then he would still need more time to correct it, but if it is the former – well, he would have to bring in a specialist or spend a lot of hours researching, neither of which he wants to do.

“Well?” Ron prompts. “What’s the matter with him?”

His shoulders drop as he sighs, “I don’t know,” he admits. “I will have to examine his brain to know specifically since he is not physically injured.”

No sooner have the words left his mouth than Malfoy begins shaking his head and pulling himself as far away as he can against the wall behind the bed. His knees are pulled up tight against his chest and his hands are on either side of his head. Harsh, rasping breaths pull through his teeth and he looks at them with such naked fear, it frightens Harry. For the first time, the gravity of what has happened to Malfoy all these years hits him and it is all the more frustrating that he doesn’t know.

Before Harry is aware, there is a bottle of calming draught in his hand and he is crouching beside the bed.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Malfoy, it’s ok. I won’t do anything that you don’t want. Understand? I don’t know what’s happened to you, but I need you to know that you are safe now. Ok?” He holds the bottle out to him. “Here, this is a calming draught.” He waits and watches as Malfoy unclenches his hands from either side of his head and slowly relaxes. He reaches a tentative hand out and Harry presses the potion into his palm. Their fingers brush momentarily and Harry swears he feels something go through his skin, but doesn’t quite know how to describe it. It is almost like a current, pushing through his skin, seeking him out. Harry leans back as Malfoy drinks the potion and hands the bottle back. The draught works within seconds, and all at once, his limbs relax and he is no longer pressing his body as far from them as he can. Once Harry deems it safe to do so, he motions for Ron and they both leave the room.

“I guess the only way we’ll know what’s happened to him is through the investigation or when you heal him,” Ron glances at him as they make their way to Harry’s office. He nods.

“Yeah, I know. And I will start figuring it out tonight. Keep me updated. I’ll be his Healer and will only let those I trust here help me; I can’t take any chances since people are still sensitive about the war and especially Death Eaters.” He thinks about Malfoy, bloody and limp, and seeing his eyes, so clear and deep, like a lake on a clear winter night. Harry is aware that there is more to his than any of them know; the problems run deep and the questions even deeper. There is more to Malfoy - as there always has been. It is strange and raw and Harry is determined to find the answers. They reach his office and Ron decides to take the Floo back to the ministry.

“I’ll let you know what’s up as soon as I can.” He is about to throw the powder into the flames when he turns back. “And thank you for this. I know how much you hate to involve yourself in Ministry affairs, especially the Aurors.”

Harry shakes his head, “This is different. I’m sure you feel it too. This whole thing is bizarre and I am just as eager as you to figure out the truth.” There is more that he wants to say, like how he has this burning urge to help Malfoy, like how he has a fascination with the sensations that he feels when he is near Malfoy and how he gets lost in those fathomless eyes. But he doesn’t mention it.

Ron smiles, “Good, that’s good. See you in a bit.”

Harry waves as the flames engulf his friend and goes back to his desk. He will have to go through more than a few medical books this time, but he is determined. He has to do this.

0~0~0

Draco watches as Potter and Weasley leave the room, relieved to be alone yet sad to see them go. Especially Potter. He doesn't know why, but he doesn’t want him to leave. There is still something wrong with him, but maybe it is because he is tired. So, so tired. It doesn’t matter that his heart blazes in rage and his mind is blind with anger and fear, there is still nothing he can do, not yet. He has to rest and bide his time before he crashes down on _them_. The calm before the storm. He smiles to himself. Then he remembers that he still cannot speak, and it frustrates him. Why couldn’t Potter fix it? Why? He would give anything to give those fuckers a piece of his mind.

He huffs. He has never really been a patient person and this biding time idea is already looking to be a mistake. But he cannot do anything if he is not able to and if he wants to be able then that means he will have to let Potter help him.

And that means trusting Potter and getting Potter to trust him.

He frowns. He hasn’t trusted anyone since _they_ took him. Since they began doing things to him, experiments and tests. He shivers. They are no longer alive, thanks to him finally snapping. He broke, but not in the way that they wanted him to. But what does that mean for him now? Is he going to have to leave his life in someone else’s hands again? Is Potter strong enough to protect him against his enemies? Against the world?

He snorts, of course he is. Draco is foolish for thinking otherwise. He settles down against the pillows at his back and closes his eyes. He can finally rest. Finally, it is over.


	3. Chapter 3

Ron walks through the halls of the Ministry with quick long strides. When he is in this mood, people tend to avoid him, and with good reason. He is not bothered as he makes his way to the Head Auror's office. Harry is right, it still annoys him that he has to answer to someone for everything. He knows that he has to work diligently if he wants to take Roberts’ place. He knocks sharply on the door and opens it when Roberts calls him in.

“So, what have you got for me? I sent in forensics, but your partner says you went to St. Mungo’s to drop off a survivor?”

Ron clears his throat as he sits in the chair opposite Roberts. All he wants to do is get back to the scene, but he has to give a quick report first.

“It was Draco Malfoy.”

There is silence as Roberts looks at him blankly. Ron knows how he feels.

“Draco Malfoy,” he says in just as blank a voice. Ron nods. “The same Malfoy who was killed five years ago trying to run from the Aurors?” His disbelief is almost tangible.

“Yes, sir. It is most certainly him. He is not physically injured, but there is a strong chance that he is involved in the murders that occurred there. But I was unable to get a statement from him because he has lost his ability to speak. And he cannot be brought in for official questioning until he is cleared from the hospital. Healer Potter is in charge of him.”

Roberts sits up at that, “You managed to get Potter to look after him?” Ron gives a humorless smirk. Just about everyone knows of the rivalry between Harry and Malfoy. “But if he is not physically injured, then how can he be kept in the hospital?”

“I think Harry wants to see what he can do about his voice, it may be neurological or psychological, though we are both thinking it’s the latter. He seems to be traumatized by what went on in that warehouse.”

“Well, do you know what’s been going on there?”

“No, sir. That we still haven’t figured that out yet. But there are a lot of questions this brings up. Why was Malfoy there and why would the Aurors at the time lie about him being killed? I will have to pull up the records of the Aurors who made that report - they are most likely still working here. But I don’t know much good it will do.”

Roberts stares off into space as Ron speaks, frowning. “Yes. Yes you do that. This is highly irregular and it troubles me that there is even a question of dishonesty in the department.” He is silent after that and Ron is ready to leave. He stands and heads for the door.

“I’m returning to the crime scene, a full report will be on your desk within the week.”

His boss nods in acknowledgement and Ron heads to the Atrium, where he can Apparate back to the warehouse. Once he arrives, though, he knows something is different. There are too many people there and it takes him a moment to place the heavily robed figures standing guard outside of the building. His partner, Michael, is running up to him.

“What are the Unspeakables doing here?” Ron asks before Michael has even come to a stop. His partner throws his hands up in frustration.

“I don’t know! They just showed up and told us that this was a case for the Department of Mysteries and that we are all relieved from the investigation.”

His jaw drops, “What?”

Ron runs up to the door they used earlier to get in and confronts the man standing there. “Let me in, I need to speak to whoever is in charge here. Now.”

The man says nothing. Ron can’t even see his face, the shadows are so deep. He knows that they can speak, but he never dreamed that they wouldn’t answer an Auror. He is outraged. “I said -”

“Now, now. There is no need to get upset, Auror Weasley.”

Ron whips around and is face-to-face with the head of the Department of Mysteries, Justin Finch-Fletchley. He holds his arms out in a gesture for peace as he comes to a stop in front of Ron. Fletchley has always rubbed Ron the wrong way, even when they were in school. The way he would flip-flop and believe every rumor about Harry, whether good or bad, made him untrustworthy in his book. Ron smiles tightly in return, the Unspeakable’s presence is not a reassuring one.

“Head Unspeakable Finch-Fletchley, I was just -”

He holds up a hand, “Fletchley, please. Fletchley is fine.”

Ron clears his throat, “Of course. I was asking your subordinate why my team and the forensics were removed from the scene. Roberts has not informed me of this.”

It is almost unheard of for any department to override another without full consent, and for Roberts to not know beforehand that the Aurors are no longer allowed on site will make his head roll.

“Roberts will be informed shortly. And as for your team, they are no longer needed. This requires the knowledge and expertise of the Unspeakables. I understand that you brought the suspect to St. Mungo’s?”

“Yes,” Ron answers slowly. 

“Draco Malfoy’s admittance into the hospital will no longer be necessary. I will have my people retrieve him shortly.”

“No, that you cannot do, Unspeakable Fletchley. He is suspected of a crime, which leaves him under our jurisdiction, under Auror watch. You can investigate a crime scene, but we take care of the suspects.”  


Fletchley’s smile flickers. “If that suspect poses a viable threat, he can be dealt with by our specialists. He will be released.” He does not lose he smile, but it is very strained. He is almost talking through clenched teeth. Ron does not give in. The policies of the Ministry are ingrained in his brain and he won’t let them be talked around by Fletchley of all people.

“If he poses such a threat, we will tell you. We do not know how or if he killed those people, and if he did, why? I do not feel that he is an imminent threat, so we’re keeping him until further notice.” For some reason, Ron just does not feel comfortable handing Malfoy over the Unspeakables. There is just no telling what they’ll do with him. He also knows that Fletchley has a deep hatred for Slytherins, Purebloods and Death Eaters. There is a real, dangerous reason why he wants Malfoy, and Ron is not going to hand him over.

“There are at least ten people in there, all of whom are dead. We know Malfoy is responsible for their deaths and he shall be dealt with accordingly.”

“Who are those people? And why was Malfoy there in the first place?” Fletchley twitches, but remains silent. Ron continues, “Despite what all of you believe, Malfoy is no killer, though he is a nasty son of a bitch. Since you so kindly took the case away from us, you will have to give me the answers to those questions before you so much as look at Malfoy again.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, Fletchley in outrage and Ron in defiance. Right now, he doesn’t care that he’s telling off a superior, Fletchley is being a pushy bastard. The Unspeakable narrows his eyes.

“Roberts will be hearing if this, I can assure you, Weasley. This will not be forgotten,” He says before turning is back on Ron and walking into the warehouse. Ron scoffs and returns to his team, who are waiting for him. Michael looks at him expectantly. Ron throws up his hands.

“Looks like the Unspeakables are taking care of this one. We will have to write a report of what we found and submit if to Roberts and Fletchley when we get back,” he tells them. What he doesn’t say is how suspicious this is all looking to him. How the hell had they gotten there so fast if Roberts hadn’t told them about it? And Malfoy being a “viable threat” can only imply that they know why. There was no surprise of him being found after being presumed dead, which tells Ron that they knew of his whereabouts and conveniently decided to keep that quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry sits straight up when he hears his Floo go off. Immediately, pain shoots through his back and neck and he groans, but he gets out of bed anyway. He curses to himself as he stumbles from his bedroom to the living room where he is greeted with Ron’s disembodied face hovering in the green flames. The face is blurry and he groans again when he realizes that he forgot his glasses. How he made it through the flat without them is a mystery. He waves at his friend to wait as he turns back to get them.

He makes a stop in the bathroom to splash cool water on his face in an effort to wake him up. He has been up half the night trying to figure out what is wrong with Malfoy’s head and he hasn’t come up with many answers. Partly because by the last stretch of hours at his desk, he had been seeing double and the gallons of caffeine he had drunk had his head pounding around in his skull. He finally called it a night in the early hours of the morning and got home. But now it he feels like he hasn’t even gotten a wink of sleep.

He shuffles back to the living room where Ron is still waiting for him with a raised eyebrow. Harry grimaces as he sits on the floor. He doesn’t think he can stand for an entire conversation right now.

“Since when do you wake up this early?” Harry asks.

“Since there’s going to be a trial for Draco Malfoy today and we both have to be there.” Ron answers.

That wakes him up, “A trial? Already?”

Ron nods, “Yes, and they say that it’s a Death Eater trial. Somehow, the Prophet has already gotten wind of it. There are several charges against him already on top of the war crimes – evading arrest, faking his death, and on top of that, the murders of all those people that were dead where we found him.”

“It was the Aurors that said he was killed in the first place!” Harry shouts. “And who were those people anyway? Do you really think that Malfoy actually killed them?” He will never forget Malfoy standing atop the Astronomy tower, pointing his wand at Dumbledore with a trembling hand, fully intent on killing the Headmaster. Harry knows that Malfoy is not capable of killing anyone, even if his life and the life of his family are at stake. To think that Malfoy killed anyone is just about beyond comprehension.

“It’s not looking too good for him in any case,” Ron says. “For him to be the only survivor when everyone else is brutally murdered, and he doesn’t have a scratch on him? He’ll be spending the rest of his life in Azkaban for sure.”

Harry shakes his head, unable to accept it. “But we don’t even know what was going on in that warehouse. Why was he there in the first place? And what the hell _is_ that place?”

“By the time I got back to the scene, the Unspeakables were crawling all over the place. The bodies were gone, and they’re not even being released to our forensics team. The Department of Mysteries is being really tight-lipped about the whole thing. The best case that we have for Malfoy is that he acted in self-defense, and you know more about the truth of what happened during the war. You are his best bet right now.”

He is silent. He remembers how ready he was to testify for Malfoy during the Death Eater trials, and to find out that he was killed had disturbed him. He really hadn’t believed it for the longest time, but as the years crawled by, denial became reluctant acceptance.

But now he will do all that he can to prevent Malfoy from going to Azkaban. “I’ll do everything that I can. Just tell me when.”

0~0~0

Draco hates the Ministry with a passion; the very walls ooze of secrets and corruption. He should know, since his family has been involved in the machinations of said corruption for generations. But all of that is null and void now that his father is in Azkaban. Draco doesn’t know exactly how long it has been, but he is pretty sure that his father is still there. Wands prod at his back and sides as he is led to the lifts and he sneers at them, hoping that his disgust is tangible enough to threaten. If his father hadn’t fucked up so epically, his family lawyers could have gotten him out of this mess. But those times are long past.

At least he is wearing clothes and he is shaved. His hair is tied back at the nape of his neck and Draco wonders why no one thought to cut it. He is prodded out of the lift once they reach the ninth level of the Ministry and down the dark hallways. The Department of Mysteries. The very air causes a shudder to go through him and he finds it hard to keep walking. He knows that they are not going to go far inside, but the place chills him nonetheless. He tells his feet to keep going; they turn off of the main hallway and down a discreet set of stairs that lead down to the courtrooms. Once through the door, even the Aurors breathe a sigh of relief.

He already knows where to go once inside and he heads to the center chair with two Aurors at his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Potter standing off to the side, along with Weasley. The Aurors had separated them the moment they marched into St. Mungo’s. Thankfully, he is able to walk on his own and not feel too frightened or angry about it, but that strength came at great difficulty.

As he settles into the chair, he lets his eyes scan the room. There are the usual number of Wizengamot members, all of whom he hates. Minister for Magic Shacklebolt sits in the middle, cutting an impressive picture. There are other people in the observation stands; more than likely they are other members of the Ministry, there to make a spectacle of him. Before he turns away, he catches sight of a familiar head of blond hair. It takes a while for him to realize that she is actually his mother. He stares at her as she gazes back with blue eyes full pain and hurt, but also happiness. It is an odd mixture, but Draco knows that he would be able to read her emotions anywhere. He is unable to look away, even as the Minister gives the opening statements, or as another member reads off the ridiculous number of his crimes that Potter had warned him of earlier this morning.

It has been years and Draco had begun to accept that he would never see his parents again. Years of being trapped with no escape had dampened any inkling of hope that he may have carried, ever since he had been captured. Now, as he looks at his mother once again, he knows that he has done the right thing. It is a shame that she had to learn about his actions in the midst of the Ministry’s lies.

“Mr. Malfoy, are there any objections to the charges that have been brought against you?” Shacklebolt asked. There is a frown on his face and Draco knows right away that the Minister doesn’t understand what is happening, or why Draco has shown up after all of this time. They all know that he cannot speak, they read his medical file, so he just shakes his head.

“All right, now we will call upon witnesses. Auror Weasley, if you please.”

Weasley rises and walks to stand off to Draco’s side as he testifies. Draco’s actions do not sound any better when Weasley relates them to the court. And all the while, Draco can feel eyes on him from every direction. Now that there is a trial, news of him and his reappearance will be all over the papers probably before the verdict. But it cannot be helped, such are the ways of the wizarding world. When Weasley sits down, there is a lot of talking in the courtroom. Everyone seems to have their own ideas, skewing the facts to fit their own imaginations.

“Now calling Healer Potter.”

There is a hush in the room as Potter stands. His shoulders are broad and strong and his stride is long and sure as he takes his stance in the middle of the floor, as close as he can get to Draco. Potter paces back and forth and Draco has never seen a better show of confidence from him. The years have treated him well, filling out his once scrawny bones with muscle. His skin glows a rich gold, belying his love for the outdoors, and his hair is as black and bright as a pure night sky. Draco has never been so fascinated.

Potter talks of his deeds during the war, which were less than noble, if not downright heinous. He tells of how Draco did not – no, _could_ not kill Dumbledore. Draco had never known that Potter was there watching the entire time. His life as a Death Eater was not a good one, but it was not as evil as everyone thinks it was. But Potter is not finished.

“Now, concerning the recent deaths that Malfoy is accused of. I have reason to believe that his actions were not without reason. There is every reason to believe that he was acting in self-defense. His life was in immediate danger -”

“Malfoys do not act in self-defense. They act in self-preservation.” one man says before he stands up. He is young with dark brown wavy hair, very plain and otherwise nondescript if not for the pure contempt in his eyes. Draco recognizes him immediately. He had seen him often when they walked the halls of Hogwarts, and he has also seen him much more recently. That condescending leer is not one to be missed. It is all Draco can do to not jump out of his seat and call him out. 

Fletchley. Justin Finch-Fletchley. The man responsible for what Draco has been through, for all of the tests and experiments, the pain and the torment. Draco has only met the man a handful of times - in the beginning when this whole mess started - but time has not dulled Draco’s memory. He can already feel the old magic stir in his body, ready to do his bidding to the man responsible for bringing it out. His body tenses as he stares, death in his eyes...

Until he remembers where he is and who’s there with him. His mother, who he has not seen for years, is here in the stands listening to the horrors of what Draco has done. And Potter, who is fighting these incompetent bastards and who is the one person whose trust Draco _must_ maintain. Putting on a show in a courtroom full of press would be his demise.

He remains still, calling the magic back and trying to remain as still and indifferent as possible. There will come a chance for him to act and he cannot afford to fuck it up now. He resigns himself to listen to the lies the bastard will say.

Shacklebolt addresses him, “Unspeakable Fletchley, is there anything that you wish to add?” The minister is clearly annoyed at the interruption, but he is willing to let the Head of the Department of Mysteries have his say. Fletchley does not reply to Shacklebolt as he continues to sneer down at Potter.

“Mr. Potter, are you willing to suggest that this inbred murderer is not guilty of acts against humanity?”

Potter snorts, “I am suggesting that whatever that place was where Malfoy was found was doing things to him that were probably just as inhumane. But the real question is, why did you all here at the Ministry lie about his death, saying he was killed? You knew that he was alive all along!”

“Nonsense!” Another member of the Wizengamot shouts. Draco does not know him, but he is pretty sure he has something against the Malfoys. “This Malfoy needs to be sent to Azkaban where he belongs. He obviously faked his death! Do you dare to imply that the Ministry was wrong?” This man's act is not fooling Draco and he hopes to Merlin that Potter is not fooled either.

“You're damn right I am! You all put out an official report of his death. If he somehow managed to fake his death, then who the hell was that in his coffin when he was buried? Because I could have sworn it was him since I was there!” Potter shouts. There are several outcries from the observation stands as well as from the Wizengamot, even Draco is shaken and he stares at Harry with his mouth open. Fletchley sits in stone-faced silence.

Shacklebolt bangs his gavel, “Order! That is enough.” He waits a moment for the courtroom to quiet down. He looks to Potter gravely, but not unfavorably. “It is indeed hard to believe that Malfoy managed to evade Auror arrest six years ago. But we cannot discount the fact that he has killed eleven people, innocent or not. Circumstantial considerations are all conjecture at this point. We do not know why or how Malfoy was there in the first place. We will have to adjourn until tomorrow morning for deliberations. Until then, Mr. Malfoy will be sent back to St. Mungo’s under Auror watch -” he bangs the gavel once again, it rings through the room with deafening finality. “Court adjourned.”

The courtroom is humming with excited voices, cameras going off in a blinding succession of flashes as Draco is led to the exit. Among the voices he hears the shouts and jeers directed toward him, but he ignores them. Instead his eyes scan the crowds for his mother. For a moment he thinks she has left already, but he finds her standing in the same place as before as everyone else moves around her. Her eyes shine with tears, but she is strong. The strength in her stance comforts him as well as empowers him. He will get through this, he knows it. There will come a chance when he will make them all eat their words.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco is back in the hospital, annoyed that he is cuffed to the bed, but there is nowhere else he can go. The circus act of the Wizengamot still baffles him. They are so desperate to get him back they will claim all sorts of bullshit in order to do it. But he is also proud of Potter for putting up such a good fight against the idiots. Draco knows the truth of the matter. He is more valuable than Potter ever was. Potter may have been the vanquisher of the Dark Lord, but Draco is on another level of Wizarding security entirely.

He is a weapon; that was the goal of the Department of Mysteries. To create a force of nature that would be completely under their control which they could use in the future. Instead of locking him up in Azkaban, they decided to use him and other pureblood radicals who were involved in the war. The ancient magic they pulled from his magical core was wild and untapped, but through cultivation and harsh control, it has been refined and answers to his will. He can feel the magic now, coursing through him, always looking for an outlet. Something to latch onto. Their experiments were designed to let him use his magic as a force unto itself. It is all Draco can do sometimes to hold it in due to its difficulty to control. 

Draco is alone in the darkened room, it is the most peace he has had in years, but he is still unable to fall asleep. The uncertainty of the future keeps him awake into the deep hours of the night. He actually wishes Potter were there with him. Potter is the only person he can trust and the only person he knows is not out to get him. The want of the presence of a warm, comforting body stirs him in ways he has not felt in years. It is a shock to him that he feels anything anymore, let alone something for Potter of all people. But there is no denying the pull that he feels every time he is in the same room as Potter. Those eyes are so easy for him to lose himself in. He could stare at them forever.

A strange sound jerks his mind back to reality and he quickly sits up. At first he thinks that it is one of the Aurors that are out in the hall, guarding his room, but it is close to impossible to hear anything from the hall, due to the magic-blocking sound coming into the room. He also knows that most of the hospital staff is gone for the night, including Potter. There should not be anyone coming to this part of the hospital anytime soon. Something is not right.

He hears the sound again, a distinct crackling of power that is soon going to a pitch so high, he wants to cover his ears. There is a light forming in the corner of the room that tells Draco someone is forcibly Apparating through the wards. He tugs frantically at the cuffs, but they are reinforced with magic which makes them almost impossible to break. The swirling miasma of light gets larger until it is blinding in its intensity. Draco is forced to squeeze his eyes shut and look away. When the light dies down he turns back to see several wizards in dark hooded robes. Instantly, he freezes. He knows why they have come and he knows where they are going to take them. The robes of an Unspeakable are unmistakable.

He pulls and yanks at the cuffs with renewed strength, but to no avail, when he feels a curse hit him square in the chest. His entire body is petrified and fright makes his heart skip several beats. He is breathing wildly at the sudden immobility; he can’t even move his eyeballs. With slow, controlled breaths, he forces his panic down. His eyes track the Unspeakables as they silently advance on him. He feels the cuffs fall from his wrists and that is all the incentive he needs.

Power swells in his lower belly as he lets it free. He focuses all of his will on getting his muscles to fucking _move_ when suddenly, they do. He practically flies from the bed, startling the three men in the room. They cry out and stumble back, Draco takes no chances and throws his magic at them. He intends to incapacitate them, but his magic never really does what he wants when he is angry. His magic lashes out to kill, but he does not wait around to see if they are able to defend themselves against his wandless nonverbal curses. He concentrates on getting out. The wards press down on his attempts to Apparate, but he uses brute force. The tearing of magic rips through the air as he fights the wards. Finally they give, and he leaves. He does not know where he is going, but he knows that he will be away from _them_. For now.

0~0~0

Harry nearly falls out of the bed when he is awakened by an emergency call from his Floo. It is St. Mungo’s and he worries that a patient’s condition may have taken a turn for the worse during the night. Fighting exhaustion, he pushes through the haze of sleep and gets dressed. Shoving his limbs into the first pair of pants he grabs, he barely gets them on before he is blindly reaching on the floor for a shirt. He runs to the library where the fireplace is, still fastening his trousers when he throws the Floo powder in the flames. When he arrives at his office, he sees Sara and several others pacing back and forth around the room.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

Before the words even leave his mouth, they are all talking all at once, but he shouts at them to calm down. Sara starts again in a more controlled voice.

“Malfoy has gotten out. There appears to have been a break-in into his room, but there is no one left. There is a lot of blood, though none of it is Malfoy’s.”

Harry is shocked, but doesn’t let the panic that is bubbling up to the surface prevent him from thinking rationally. “Have you notified the Aurors?” he asks, she nods in return. The last thing that Harry wants is a manhunt for Malfoy. He marches out of his office and through the hospital to where Malfoy’s room is. On the way he tests the wards, and he can see that there is definitely a breach in them, but it is from the inside, not the outside. As he approaches the room, there is no sign that there had been anyone passing through the threshold of the door. So that must mean that Malfoy’s attackers somehow Apparated into the room.

Harry is in disbelief as he looks at the mess in the room. The covers and pillows that are supposed to be on the bed are on the floor. In the right corner of the room, there is old blood splattered on the hard tiles of the floor and the white paint of the wall. But there are no people left. Harry can only conclude that Malfoy managed to injure whoever broke in before he made his escape. Harry is secretly glad that Malfoy made it out in one piece. He flat-out refuses think that Malfoy could be hurt somewhere - lost with nowhere to go.

But that brings up several serious questions - where the hell _is_ Malfoy? And how the fuck was he able to get through the wards like that? Harry knows that no matter how many protections you put up over a place, there is always someone who will figure out how to get through them. But these wards are well over a thousand years old; even Harry knows that it would take him several hours of intense concentration to get through them. And even then, there is a lot of coaxing and pushing to find a gap in the wards that once you get a finger in, you can eventually wiggle all the way through. Malfoy just broke through the wards like a jackhammer, leaving a gaping hole that Harry can still feel trying to knit itself back together.

Harry is not an Auror. He had decided to become a Healer instead, but he’ll be damned if he is not regretting that decision in this moment. His whole body is thrumming with the need to get out there and find whoever is responsible and to look for Malfoy himself. He knows that he will give anything to know that Malfoy is safe and not in danger.

But he cannot. There are too many patients that are under his supervision, he has no choice but to remain at St. Mungo’s. No matter how much he wants it, he can’t just drop everything and leave. It is physically hard for him to accept, but he has to leave it to the proper authorities. Thank Merlin it is Ron that responds to their call. Harry tells him everything that he knows.

“Since there are no witnesses, there is really very little that we can do right now. And since Malfoy is technically in Auror custody, he is now at large and we are forced to put out a warrant for his arrest. And his medical recovery will not save him from the Ministry’s holding cells.” Ron says.

Harry looks at him helplessly and it comes as small comfort that Ron looks like he regrets every single word he is saying. Harry tries to reason with him, even though he knows it is useless. “Malfoy was attacked in Auror custody, someone has to be held responsible for his safety!”

Ron purses his lips, “The Aurors that were outside of his door last night have already given their statements. They did not hear anything going on and only found out that he was not in the room when one of the Healers came to check on him.”

Harry finds that very hard to believe and knows that someone is lying. Sounds are blocked from going _into_ the room, not the other way around. He is sure that they would have heard _something_. Either they ignored it or knew that it was happening and did nothing. He slings an arm around his friend’s shoulder and guides him to a corner of the room - away from the mess - and from the others.

“Ron, there is something going on at the Ministry. Yesterday at Malfoy’s trial, you know some of the members of the Wizengamot knew what was going on. They were in on it! They want Malfoy so badly, it’s obvious that there is a reason other than punishing him for his war crimes.” He is whispering savagely, almost growling. Ron looks at him askance.

“Mate, are you thinking about challenging the entirety of the Wizarding legal system? Because it sure as hell sounds like it. What the hell am I supposed to do? I’m just an Auror!”

Harry pokes him, “An Auror that should be Head Auror now. You know as well as I do how much you want Roberts’ seat. That should give you all the more reason to find out what’s going on. You are one of the few people I trust who work in the Ministry. If I can’t ask you -”

“Mate,” Ron grabs his shoulder to get him to stop his rambling. Harry blinks as Ron looks at him head on. “I get it. I don’t like what’s happening here any more than you do, and I am definitely going to look into this, but I can’t do it in the open. These are powerful people that we’re talking about here, but I’ll do what I can.”

Harry gives Ron a pat on his shoulder. “Thanks, Ron. It means a lot.”

Now Harry has to repair the damage to the wards and clean up this wreck of a room. All he can do is go on with his job and leave the investigation to Ron.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco shivers as he crouches in a dark alley, looking around with burning, tired eyes. He wishes he had had time to think this through before Apparating to a random street in Muggle London. But who knows what they would have done to him if he had wasted any time. There was no choice. He can hear the people walking by on the sidewalk, talking and laughing and completely oblivious to what’s around them. Draco doesn’t know the first thing about surviving around Muggles, but he knows that he will not last long huddling in a damp and smelly alleyway. He has to get moving. The night is chilly and he has nowhere near enough clothes on to be out all night. But where can he go? Going home would be suicide. Now that he is on the run, there are probably more Aurors crawling around the Manor than the Ministry can spare. And he hasn’t spoken to his friends in so long, he doesn’t even know where they live now, or if they’re even alive.

And it isn’t like he didn’t try to go home, at least not at first. He would give anything to speak to his mother again. Just to know how she has been holding up without him and his father. Even imagining her alone in that awful house makes his skin crawl. He has tried. He went near the grounds, but made sure to keep his distance in case he came within the vicinity of the wards. There he stood for a long time before realizing that he wasn’t ready to go back. Returning would mean facing _that_ past, the one where he was forced to serve that maniac, and he just couldn’t do it. So, he left. And that was several days ago.

If only he could speak. Potter never got the chance to fix that little problem. If he had his voice, he would be able to try his chances in Knockturn Alley. There are many nooks and crannies that he and his father have there that are well suited for hiding from authorities. But without his voice, he is better off staying away from there.

He gets up from behind a reeking dumpster and creeps to the street. His bare feet are torn and scratched. His legs are almost numb from walking through the streets, but he keeps going anyway. He really wishes he had a wand; there is only so much that his own strange magic can do. He is able to bring rain, wind and hail at will. He can cause physical harm to people if he so chooses and he can get through almost any magical barrier if the need is there. But he can’t even conjure a pair of damn shoes or even a coat for that matter. If they had taught him to do that, he would have something to be grateful for. His wandless magic is good, but not that good.

Muggles scare him, he realizes as he walks among them. They are constantly glaring at him, for one thing. No one can be arsed to help him. It disgusts him and makes him want to get away from them all the more. He ducks into another gap between two buildings and takes a deep breath. He needs to get away from here. He closes his eyes and thinks hard on the safest place that he could be. A place that is warm and where he can get some food and rest. Slowly, his breathing slows as the magic guides him. He feels it swirling inside him, helping him. He knows where he can go. Then, he is Disapparating.

0~0~0

Harry stumbles through the Floo and heads straight for the bathroom. He needs a long, hot shower. While he is in the loo, he sees his face in the mirror and right away wishes he hadn’t. The dark circles under his eyes are unnerving. He is absolutely knackered.

Malfoy has been gone for three entire days and there is still no sign of him. Harry remembers his long, almost delicate limbs, wild hair and icy eyes and shudders. He can’t imagine where he could be. There has been no sign of him in his family home. Malfoy is hiding so thoroughly, even Ron is beginning to get frustrated. But another part of Harry is glad that he still can't be found. The last thing he wants is for the Ministry to get their claws on him.

The near scalding water of the shower makes him groan, the steam helps to clear his head and he takes his time. He is long overdue for a day off, he can't even remember the last time he hasn't been to work. He is surprised they let him work so much, but no one says no to Harry Potter, he thinks sarcastically.

Determined to get comfortable, he dresses in only a pair of boxers, pockets his wand and heads for the kitchen. His stomach rumbles as he goes downstairs; forget about a day off, he doesn't think he's even eaten today. Before he reaches the last step, he hears a noise coming from the kitchen. No matter how much he wants to deny becoming an Auror, he cannot get rid of the instincts he developed during the war. His wand is in his hand and he is already creeping down the steps and corridor. The sounds are like someone going through the cupboards, moving things around and generally making a mess. Harry frowns. Technically, no one should be able to get into Grimmauld Place anyway; it is supposed to be impossible to find, let alone break into.

He reaches the doorway, a stunner on his lips, when he sees a familiar mane of long blond hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. The spell dies in his throat; all he can do is gape. Malfoy is still wearing the same hospital clothes that Harry gave him, now filthy and torn.

"What...?" is all Harry can manage. Malfoy whips around and visibly relaxes when he notices it's Harry. Malfoy grabs a box out of the cabinet and inspects the label, then he opens it and pops a few biscuits in his mouth. Harry is regaining his composure when he steps into the room.

"Malfoy, where the hell have you been?" he shouts, but right away he regrets it. It is an unreasonable response to someone who was attacked and had to run for their life. Malfoy gives him a withering look. Harry starts again.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I was really worried after the attack, but there was literally no way to find you. Do you know who they were?"

The words are already out of his mouth before he remembers that Malfoy can't really answer his question, but the other man nods anyway. Harry has a sneaking suspicion as to who was behind the attack, but he needs confirmation first.

"Were they from the Ministry?"

Malfoy looks surprised, but nods again. Harry's heart sinks. He really doesn't want to believe that the Ministry is responsible for something like this, but there's no denying it.

"Were they Aurors?"

Malfoy shakes his head again with a slight frown on his face. Harry is ready to go through an entire list of who it could've been. It will be tiresome, but necessary.

"Was it - uh, Malfoy? What are you doing?"

Malfoy walks closer to him and Harry takes an unconscious step back. Malfoy's eyes are dark and focused, and he is completely ignoring Harry’s discomfort. Malfoy walks up until he is standing a few inches in front of Harry, so close their breath mixes in the air between them. Harry's heart pounds in his chest. He has never been this close to Malfoy, at least not like this. Harry notices everything like a pointed laser and the hairs on his neck and arms stand up. The fine aristocratic features, the depth of his eyes and the shape of his lips seem to draw him in. By now he is panting and probably should be embarrassed, but can't be bothered. 

It's truly incredible, the magic he feels from Malfoy, and it is unlike any he has ever felt from a wizard. Malfoy reaches his hands up to cup Harry's face and his fingertips tingle when they touch his skin. It has occurred to him that he should be frightened because he has absolutely no idea how dangerous Malfoy is, and given their history, he is liable to do anything. But, insanely, he is not afraid. 

The tingling gets more intense until it feels like electricity ready to fry Harry’s brain. All at once, he is gripped by a force that makes his body go rigid.

The experience is like diving into a Pensieve, but without the sensory deprivation. What he sees brings tears to his eyes; the pain his body feels makes him want to vomit and as he sees the people doing it to Draco he wants to hurt them. Every single thing that has happened to Draco within the last five years is going through Harry’s mind in seconds. It is so much that Harry fears he will never be able to retain it all. As soon as he believes that his head will explode, the last memory stops him short. It is the courtroom of the recent trial and the focus is on one man. The one that spoke out against Malfoy - Fletchley.

Without any words between them, Harry knows that this man is responsible for everything. He knows he must get this information to Ron right away. Fletchley is the missing link in this convoluted puzzle. He is the reason why Draco is the way he is, why he was driven to kill those people. Why he is so alone.

The sadness is so profound that Harry’s body aches. All he wants to do is curl in on himself and –

Malfoy wrenches his hands away with a quiet choking sound and backs away. But Harry is there, grabbing him and pulling him back.

“Malfoy -”

He fights Harry, but not wholeheartedly, and soon Harry feels him go slack in his hands. Harry pulls him close with one hand cradling the back of his head.

“Draco,” he says and it has an immediate effect. Malfoy freezes as he stares at Harry. The fear is coming off of him in waves, but he doesn’t move. “Draco, I will fix this. I will not let those bastards come near you again. On my life they will have to go through me first.”

They are so close that Harry feels the need to do what he has refused to even let himself think about, and kisses him. Malfoy gives a shuddering sigh and melts into the kiss. Their mouths move slowly at first, but that is abandoned as a sudden desperation overcomes them. Harry is turning them around so that Malfoy is pressed against the wall and has a leg thrown around Harry’s waist. He is amazed how responsive and thoroughly aroused Malfoy has become and he is painfully hard. Malfoy sighs as he their cocks rub together through their clothing. Merlin, what Harry wouldn’t give to hear him moan.

That thought right there is like being dowsed with frigid water and he pulls away with a gasp. What is he thinking? He should be focusing on _curing_ Malfoy, not fucking him into the wall. His eyes look heavily at Malfoy, who is still gasping and looking a little put out now that Harry has decided to have a moral dilemma.

“Malfoy, we – this is hardly the time for this and it is highly unprofessional of me.” He knows it's petty, even to his own ears. Malfoy frowns again before shaking his head. He puts his hands on Harry’s chest and pushes him more into the kitchen. Before Harry can ask what he’s doing, his thighs hit the table and Malfoy’s mouth is on him again. It is all Harry can do not to throw him on the goddamned table and fuck his brains out. He moves his head to the side, trying in vain to retain some vestige of control.

“ _Please_ , Malfoy.”

The tingling feeling is back as Malfoy places his hands on Harry’s head once again. But this time, there is no onslaught of images and memories, there is an overwhelming sense of need that Harry could never fathom. And now, he knows that this is exactly what they both need and that it will _help_ Malfoy. How, Harry has no clue at the moment. Instead of being thrown onto the table, Malfoy sits there on his own and gives Harry a look that goes straight to his cock. Harry settles between his legs and runs his hands over Malfoy’s lean frame.

“I never thought I would get to have you here, like this,” Harry says, then blushes as Malfoy raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t elaborate, he won’t say how he has imagined them in Hogwarts, ducked into a shadowed alcove, messing around past curfew. Where it would have been a struggle for Malfoy to keep his sharp tongue quiet.

Malfoy kisses him again and Harry can feel the grin curving his lips. He jerks as Malfoy grabs for his hard cock right away, making him moan into their kiss. A part of him still doesn’t believe this is actually happening, that he is standing in his kitchen with Draco Malfoy on his table. But there is no denying the tightness of his pants or the heat of the body pressed against him, so he relishes it and decides to worry about the consequences later.

By this time, Harry has been freed from his pants and Malfoy is steadily moving his fist up and down his length and if he is not careful, he will take Malfoy right there. But there is something still holding him back - he just doesn’t feel right about going too far. He pushes his hand away and in turn works Malfoy’s pants low until he is lifting up to help Harry get them off, then he kneels and holds Malfoy, who is hard and pulsing, and slowly works his hand over him. Malfoy throws his head back, gasping in short breaths and grabbing for Harry in a silent plea for more. He obliges and slides his lips over the head, tasting Malfoy for the first time. He hums and looks up; Malfoy has stopped breathing at this point. Harry moves faster, hollowing his cheeks and moaning. He knows the vibration in his throat is sweet torture. Malfoy lifts a leg and places his foot on the table, opening up to Harry even more and Harry groans deeply, his cock jumping. He cannot stop himself as he wets a finger in his mouth and aims it directly for his hole.

Once he touches the sensitive muscle, Harry notices a loud rattling sound from around them. He lifts his mouth from Malfoy and glances around. All of the pots, pans and generally everything that is not nailed down is shaking, the forgotten box of biscuits slowly makes its way across the table until it dances right off the edge. He looks back to Malfoy, but his eyes are still closed, his mouth open in pure ecstasy. Harry grins. It reminds him of when he was a child and unable to control his magic. Harry can almost feel how turned on Malfoy is right now, and he pushes his finger past his opening and Malfoy shudders. He works his finger in, and sucks Malfoy off again, until without warning he is coming in Harry’s mouth - body jerking and his hand grabbing Harry’s hair painfully.

Several items in the kitchen hit the floor or even break. Harry winces at the sound but doesn’t let up. He swallows as much as he can and returns his attention to his own arousal, jerking off fast until he comes all over his hand.

They are both panting when Harry stands and cleans them with his wand. In the kitchen, there are a few shattered plates and various other things on the floor. He looks to Malfoy with a raised eyebrow.

“Care to explain that?”

Malfoy only shrugs, but there is a deep blush on his face. Harry’s eyes are drawn to his kiss-swollen lips and thinks about how much he wants to kiss them again. It is only then that he remembers that he should tell Ron about Fletchley. He doesn’t know how they are going to peg him with anything, but a subtle inquiry should not raise too much suspicion, he hopes.

“Malfoy, I have to tell Ron everything that you have told me. It will help when he researches what went on in the warehouse.” _If he can even find anything_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say out loud. “I can set you up in the guest room next to mine while I go talk to him.”

A half hour later, he is kneeling once again, but this time in front of the fireplace. 

“He’s what!” Ron shouts.

Harry sighs at his friend, who’s eyes are about to pop clean through the Floo. “Malfoy is here, he showed up a couple of hours ago. But Ron, did you hear what I said about Fletchley?”

“Yeah I heard you, but why didn’t you tell us right away? Why is he still _there_?”

His voice hardens. “Because he is safer here. The farther he is from the Ministry, the better. Ron, what they did to him, I’ll never let them touch him again.”

That makes Ron pause. Harry had said that with such conviction, he knows that he will do anything to keep Malfoy safe. It’s that simple, and not even facing arrest will stop him. He is technically harboring a fugitive. Harry could give zero fucks.

Ron drops that issue. “I don’t know mate, asking too many questions of any Ministry official will raise suspicion. And you say that Malfoy somehow showed you what happened? Like through Legilimency?” Ron asks. He sounds painfully skeptical, and Harry doesn’t blame him. It is hard to believe, but Ron knows that he wouldn’t joke around about this.

“No, not like that. More like a Pensieve, but more – personal.” It is the closest he can come to describing the experience. He hopes Ron will at least try to understand.

“I really don’t get it, I’ve never heard of anyone being able to do that, but I’ll do what I can. I’ll get back to you in a few days to let you know what I’ve been able to dig up. In the meantime, we have never spoken and I definitely have no fucking clue where Malfoy is right now. Please, be careful.”

Harry smiles, “Don’t worry, I will.”

They cut the connection and Harry heads to his room, ready to collapse in his bed. He seriously owes Ron big time now. But now he knows that something will come out of this very soon, he is sure of it.


	7. Chapter 7

What the fuck is wrong with him? Draco thinks as he lies in bed. The chill of the room threatens to overcome the thick bedding that he is burrowed under. He shivers anyway. How could he lose control of his stupid emotions like that? After all these years of learning to keep all thoughts and feelings under absolute control, he shows Potter everything. It is as suicidal as he’s ever been, but he knows that he did it for a reason. 

During their kiss, there was a feeling akin to euphoria in his magic, like he could do anything. With what little magical theory he has learned from school, he knows that there is an ancient magic that healing can be a direct result of sex between wizards and witches. Somehow he was sure in that moment, that if his and Harry’s magic combined, it would heal him and his voice. Now that he thinks about it, he is glad that Potter prevented them from going too far, because Draco isn’t sure if he’s ready for that. It has been too long since he’s had a lover, and he can now admit he was acting in desperation. 

He sighs as he turns on his side, intent on shutting out all thoughts of Potter and what his body could do for him, but his mind refuses to rest. Instead his thoughts turn to his next move. What is he going to do now? He is a fugitive hiding in the house of the Boy Who Lived, he has to rely on Weasley keeping quiet about him, and frankly Draco is not going to let his life hang on the redhead’s promise. He will have to make a move soon, but will wait and see if Weasley actually does come up with anything.

The next few days are interesting to say the least. Potter gives him clothes and plenty of food even though Draco has lost much of his apatite over the years. He still eats; he’s not a complete bastard. But not once does Potter make a move on him. There is virtually no physical contact except for the occasional touch on the shoulder or arm. As reassuring as it is, it is maddeningly frustrating for him. The more they avoid it, and pretend that it never happened, the more Draco wants to wrap his arms around those broad shoulders and lose himself in Potter’s rough kiss and strong body. When he goes to St. Mungo’s for work is the worst. Draco constantly questions the safety of Grimmauld Place and expects Unspeakables to burst in any moment. But it doesn’t happen and when Potter returns late at night, Draco is awake to make sure it is actually him, no matter how late it is. 

It is pathetic, Draco thinks to himself; all of this waiting will certainly drive him bat-shit insane if he doesn’t do anything about it. On the fourth day, with still no word from Weasley and after spending the entire day in his own head, he is ready to do anything for a respite. Potter returns late as usual, and Draco waits until he is asleep before letting himself into his room.

It is very dark and difficult to see, but he can easily see Potter’s figure lying over the bed and he can tell that Potter is not wearing a shirt. His toned arms cradle his head, black hair all over the place. Draco creeps over. Why he decided to do this, even he doesn’t know. Maybe his cowardice never really changed despite the way everything else has about him. His fingers ache to touch the thick, messy hair and he sighs as he runs a hand through it. Potter sighs as well, deeply, and leans into the touch. For a moment, Draco wants to abandon this mission right away. Just leave. But his magic is already coming alive and yearning for more contact, even after this simple touch. Draco gently pushes back the thick comforter, revealing more of that tanned skin. He runs his hand along Potter’s back, feeling the smooth skin and the tingling in his palm, which is slowly intensifying. When his fingers reach the waistband of his shorts and the soft rise of flesh, he pauses and really thinks about stopping when Potter speaks and scares the hell out of him.

“Don’t stop.” Draco is frozen and remains silent. Potter lifts his head, greens eyes gleaming in the dim room. “Please.”

Draco exhales through tense lips and moves his hand to touch Potter’s firm arse. They both groan. He keeps going, touching the back and inside of his thighs. Before Draco can reach farther in between, Potter turns around and catches his wrist. Draco’s eyes are drawn to the bulge in his shorts and almost doesn’t hear him speak.

“Draco, it this what you really want from me?”

He shuts his eyes. When Potter uses his name, it just does something to him. 

He nods his head in answer and is frustrated that he can’t explain himself. In truth, he is not sure of what he wants. He wants for Potter to trust him and vice versa. He wants Potter’s help. There is no denying what his body wants and no use hiding it either. It is difficult to put into words, but Potter seems to get it. Potter pulls Draco down until he is sprawled over him, straddling him.

“Good,” Potter says before he kisses him and Draco knows that he made the right choice. Potter is hot and hard in all the right places and it drives Draco crazy. His mind swims as he rubs against him, grabbing his strong arms almost desperately. He feels Potter run his hands down his body, slipping them under the fabric of his boxers to touch his flesh. There is nothing more in this world right now he wants than for Potter to just take him.

Lust fuels his actions as he plasters their lips together. He grinds their cocks together as he sucks Potter’s lip between his teeth. Blood fills his mouth when he bites too hard, but Potter doesn’t seem to notice. He is straining his body up to meet Draco’s ruts. The tie holding his hair back comes out, and it falls over them both, creating a curtain of silken blond hair. Draco gasps as Potter flips them over and pins him beneath him.

“Merlin, I love this hair. You should never cut it.” Potter says, breathless. Draco smiles and pulls Potter in for another rough kiss. He pants when he feels Potters rough hand make a grab for his cock, stroking him through the thin fabric of his boxers. Draco almost explodes right there. His body is on fire, his magic is like a furnace in the pit of his stomach. His whole body shudders in bliss.

“Shit, Draco. Your magic feels incredible.”

In response, Draco lets his legs fall farther apart, hopefully conveying the message for Potter to just fuck him already. Potter takes note and chuckles as he reaches for his wand. A strange feeling washes over him as Potter performs the necessary spells to prepare them both for what is to come. Then Potter takes his time, of course. Taking off their remaining clothes and fingering Draco, thoroughly preparing him and reducing him to an incoherent mess.

After an eternity, Potter is pressing his hard cock against him and pushing in painfully slowly. Draco grips his arms as the unfamiliar sensation becomes uncomfortable, but Potter is there for him. Whispering to him and kissing him until he is buried completely inside Draco. His eyes are closed tightly as he waits for the burning to abate, and when it does, he moves ever so slightly. Potter takes the hint and moves, pushing in and out at a slow, torturous pace. Draco’s mouth is open as white spots dance before his eyes.

This is the most incredible pleasure he has ever felt in his life and soon he is meeting each thrust, begging to be fucked harder. He runs his hands over Potter’s back and arse, pulling and squeezing. Potter moans in his ear and it is the sexiest sound Draco has ever heard.

Soon, they are moving in a synchronous rhythm both physically and magically, Potter setting a hard pace which has Draco writhing and shaking. He can feel his body losing control and he tries to reign in his magic, but it is no use. Potter bangs his prostate over and over until he is coming, so hard that he is momentarily paralyzed from the intensity. Harry grabs on to him when his body begins to tremble as wave after of wave of pleasure crashes over him. And he is shouting, rather hoarsely, as his and Harry’s magic explodes around them.

In the back of his mind, he is aware of the fact that he is using his voice for the first time in several years, but he doesn’t care. When he has control if his limbs, he holds Harry in a passionate embrace and kisses him hard until they are both breathless.

“Harry,” he breathes as he stares into his eyes, saying the first thing that has been running through his head like a chant. Harry is looking at him in shock, even though he hasn’t come all the way down from his climax.

“Draco, your voice. You knew that it would come back all along, didn’t you?”

He nods and can't keep from smiling, “Not exactly. I knew something would happen, but not _what_ would happen. I just knew your magic would help me.” He turns his head away as he breaks out into a cough. It hurts his throat to talk this much, but he is too happy to care about that. The freedom that comes with having a voice is overwhelming. Harry is smiling when he turns back, and Draco returns it.

“You sneaky bastard. There are some things that haven’t changed at all about you, isn’t it?”

Before he can answer, Harry kisses him again and they take their time exploring each other. His magic has calmed down and moves languidly in his belly, content. In the years he has been held captive, he has never felt safe. Hell, even before that in his own home when it was crawling with Death Eaters, he hasn’t felt as secure as he does now, safe with Harry, safe from the world. After a while, Harry pulls back.

“You called me Harry.”

Draco reddens. He opens his mouth to defend himself or give a smart retort, but he notices that Harry is serious rather than making fun of him. “Yes.”

“The moment you get your voice back, the first thing you say is my name. I feel like a father.” Draco laughs and lightly punches his arm.

“Oh, fuck off.” He is still embarrassed, but happy all the same. Eventually, they pull apart and arrange themselves for sleep. Draco with his head on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry with his arm heavy around him.

The next morning, Draco stretches lazily on the soft bed, too blissful to care what time it is. His body is so warm and comfortable, he almost falls back asleep when he reaches for the warm body that was there all night, only to discover that he is alone. Finally, his mind catches up with him and he realizes that Harry probably went to work. This time, he does doze off until he hears the shower shut off. He hadn’t noticed it was on in the first place. When he sees Harry come back into the room only dressed in a low-hanging towel, he hums in approval.

“You look _much_ better without clothes.” His eyes travel from his slender hips, to his surprisingly toned abs and chest, his broad shoulders, and then finally his face, so characteristically rugged. The man is a Healer, Draco muses, where the hell does he get the time to work out? “Yes, much better.”

“And you look better in my bed, preferably unclothed and writhing beneath me,” he says, matter of factly. Draco gives a lazy grin, lust already stirring his body. He wouldn’t mind having another round if Potter is up for it. Harry comes to sit on the bed, and leans over for a welcoming kiss. “Morning,” Harry says.  


He chuckles, “Morning.”

“Now that you have your voice back, you can tell Ron some more things about what happened.” Draco frowns, he does not want to talk about it. It is one thing to show Harry the events of the past five years, but it is another to give voice to them. Harry seems to understand his misgivings, “I know that you don’t want to talk about it again, but if anyone is to know you will have to speak up about it. But know that I will always be here to back you up. I am the only one that can even fathom what you went through.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it. Harry waits. He doesn’t even know if he is right about what he has been thinking, and is hesitant to say it.

“Draco, what is it?”

“There may be – others, like me. Being experimented on, I mean. I don’t think that I am the only one. Fletchley made it clear to us that the purebloods will all be used to their fullest extent.”

There is a moment where Harry says nothing, he stares off in silence. “You mean Fletchley is basically making a fleet of super soldiers and no one in the Ministry knows about it?”

Draco hesitates again. He knows that Harry has this crazy notion that the Ministry is this altruistic deity that can do no wrong. That can’t be any farther from the truth. “Not exactly. The Aurors that pursued us right after the war were most likely bought and paid for by Fletchley. And a lot of members of the Wizengamot too, but I’m pretty sure that Shacklebolt doesn’t know.”

Harry is shaking his head. “I almost can’t believe this. If it weren’t for Ron finding you when he did, I don’t think anyone would have ever known.”

“Until it was too late.” He knows it would have come out eventually. They were definitely going to be used sooner or later.

Harry jumps to his feet. “Fuck, I’ve got to tell Ron about this. I haven’t heard from him all week, I hope he found out something else.” He looks to Draco. “Right, I have something for you.” He runs over to his closet and digs around before coming back. There is a long slender box in his hands. When he opens the box, he recognizes the hawthorn wand immediately. It almost calls for him as it did when it first chose him in Ollivander’s shop. He is speechless. Of all things, this is the last thing he expects. He looks back to Harry and his small smile. “I’ve kept it all these years, even after we thought you were gone.”

He swallows, “Thank you.”

“I don’t know if you actually need it, now that you have this new magic and can do everything wandlessly, but I’m sure it couldn’t hurt to have.” Harry is now getting dressed, donning the uniform which marks him as a Healer.

“Oh, yes. It will help. Any conduit will amplify my magic and make it more potent.” He fingers the wood over and over, the familiar bumps making nostalgia hit him like a ton of bricks. Memories of before the war, when life was simpler, assault him. To be fair, having a Death Eater for a father is never simple, but he did have a childhood which he got to enjoy. Being a Death Eater never made him proud; he hated it and the stigma the mark carried with it. When the war ended and their side inevitably lost, he was ready for punishment, ready to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban if that was what it would take to please the Wizarding World. He was a willing participant in its destruction and went willingly when the Aurors came for him. It wasn’t until later that he realized the truth: that he would be more useful as a test subject than as a prisoner.

With his hand curled around his own wand, he knows that he must get his life back. Even if it means a life sentence in prison or death, he has to do it. And with Harry on his side, he will be virtually unstoppable.

“Draco?”

He snaps back to the present. Harry looks at him in concern, so he smiles to reassure him.

“I’m going to give Ron a call, you should come with me to tell him what you’ve told me. I’ll be downstairs waiting.”

“Alright.” He throws the covers off, fully aware of his nakedness and loving the way Harry’s eyes are glued to his body. “I’ll shower first, then meet you downstairs.” Harry hums as answer. Whether it’s to his words or his body is unclear, but Draco doesn’t care either way. He grins all the way to the bathroom. After the shower, he is dressed and at the kitchen table eating a breakfast made by Harry himself.

“Where is your house elf?” he didn’t want to ask, but he has been curious about it ever since he got there.

“Vacation,” Harry says before shoving more sausage in his mouth. Draco eats more slowly, savoring each bite. “I prepare all of the food for you before I leave. Thanks to Hermione, they now get vacations several times a year.” He chuckles, “At first, they didn’t know what to do with themselves.”

Draco is still reeling at the word vacation. With those fuddy-duddy conservatives in the Wizengamot, he is surprised she was able to accomplish that much. He shakes his head and finishes his remaining food without comment. Harry is already putting his plate away.

“Let’s go talk to Ron, but stay out of sight until we actually see him.”

In the library, they call Weasley’s office, but it is not the redhead who answers. It is another man that Draco doesn’t recognize.

“Oh! Healer Potter. What can I do for you?”

Harry smiles, “Yes, Michael. Is Ron in? I need to speak to him urgently.”

“No, he hasn’t been in for several days. I got a note from him saying he got a lead on one of our cases and went to investigate.” 

Harry frowns, “He went alone? Why didn’t you go with him?”

Michael shakes his head, “He just left without telling me. It’s very odd of him, but I’m sure he wouldn’t do it without a reason.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Harry says. “Thanks Michael. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure thing, goodbye Mr. Potter.”

They cut the connection and Harry turns to him. “Aurors rarely do any job alone unless they are sure there is no danger. And for Ron to be gone for several days? I’m calling Roberts.” He throws the Floo powder back in. Draco has a sneaking suspicion that something has happened to Weasley, but he is willing to wait and see what Roberts has to say.

After several moments, Roberts finally answers. “Healer Potter! What a pleasant surprise. Not here to tell me to watch my cholesterol, are you?” he laughs loudly.

“No, I was wondering if you’ve heard from Ron, I can’t seem to get a hold of him.”

“Ron? Oh, yes. He’s been sick for a while now. Hasn’t been into work. He has a Healer for a best friend, you’d think he’d never use that excuse. You really haven’t seen him?” Roberts asks when Harry doesn’t react to any of his jokes.

“I haven’t. Maybe he doesn’t want me to know. Thank you, Auror Roberts.”

“Anytime. When you see him, tell him to get his arse back here.”

He ends the call and Harry just stares into the flames, now back to their flickering red and orange. Draco clears his throat.

“Harry, I hate to say this, but maybe _they_ got to him. You did have him to investigate them, right?”

He watches as Harry buries his face in his hands. “Fuck. I have to go find him.” Harry stands and walks over to Draco and grips his shoulders. “I have to.”

“I know.” He answers. “And I’m coming with you.”

Harry is confused, “What? No you aren’t.”

Draco nods his head, mind already racing ahead. This is his time to finally get those bastards, and he has a good reason to have Harry there with him. Those people stole years of his life away from him, he is not going to let them get away with it.

“Yes, I am. Do you even know where Ron may be being kept? He is a pureblood, they will be doing the exact same thing to him as they did to me. I know where to go. And thanks to my father, I know the Department of Mysteries like the back of my hand. You need me.”

Harry looks disgruntled and folds his arms as he considers Draco’s argument. He is looking Draco up and down, like he is considering whether Draco is fit for the journey, for the fight. He is almost certain there will be a fight. But he is more than ready, and now that he has his wand, nothing will stop him. Not even Potter. Finally, Harry nods.

“Alright, but please stay close.” His face brightens. “I know the perfect thing.” He dashes off and leaves Draco bewildered. When he comes back, he is holding a shimmering cloth. It looks like liquid silk as it moves in Potter’s hands. Harry holds it out to him. “Here, wear this.”

As Draco takes it, he is struck by how soft the material is. It is his infamous Invisibility Cloak. There have only been a few times in his life where he has been able to hold or even be in the presence of objects of such rarity; they aren’t even believed to be real. He has always known Potter had the cloak of invisibility, but he has never touched it. He looks up to Potter.

“Are you sure?” he can’t quite keep the awe out of his voice. Only Potter’s closest friends are trusted to have the cloak; Draco knows he has succeeded in gaining his trust.

“Of course. You are a fugitive and wanted for murder, we can’t have you just waltzing into the Ministry in broad daylight.” There is a pained expression in his face as he looks at Draco. “Are you sure about this? Coming to the Department of Mysteries?”

Draco smiles darkly, “Oh, I have never been surer in my entire life.”


	8. Chapter 8

Harry’s mind is reeling. Something has happened to Ron - he knows it. Ron would never disappear like this and send random notes to his partner and boss. It terrifies him to think that he is responsible for it. If he hadn’t told Ron to investigate, none of this would have happened. At least, he hopes not.

They are taking the Floo network to get to the Ministry. Harry cannot draw too much attention to himself by looking suspicious, so he walks through the atrium in his Healer robes assuming a professional air. The Floo behind him flairs up a second time. There is no one that comes out of it, but he knows Draco just walked through after him and hopes no one noticed. For a moment, he worries that the Invisibility Cloak will not hold up to the travel, but he needn’t have worried.

“Draco?” he whispers.

“I’m here, just keep going to the lifts.” Draco says close to his left. He does, keeping his strides long and smooth, sending nods to everyone who greets him – which seems to be everyone there. He knows he is revered and has come to terms with that a long time ago. But right now he wishes they would all just fuck off. He jabs at the button for the lift harder than he intended, but he is otherwise keeping his cool.

In the lift, he feels Draco’s reassuring heat press against him. The other wizards move to accommodate them. Harry slowly pushes Draco into a corner so he will have less chance bumping into anyone else. As they are thrown sideways, and then down, more people get off and on. He is not paying them any attention until one of them calls out to him.

“Healer Potter, how unusual to see you here.”

He looks up to see a member of the Wizengamot staring at him with a contemptuous curl in his lip. Clearly, Harry is not regarded too highly by this man. He recognizes him to be the other man that spoke out against him during Draco’s trial. Draco's hand rests subtly against the small of his back, as a warning. He decides to play dumb and give the man a small nod.

“I’m here to discuss a case with someone, Mr..?”

“Langley. Andrew Langley." He holds out his hand and Harry shakes it, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. "Of course, it must be about Malfoy, no doubt. But why, pray tell, are you not going to the Auror Department? Surely, they will be of more help.” This Langley guy is obviously trying to get information out of him, but he refuses to buy into it.

“I’m afraid I cannot divulge that information, Mr. Langley. But if I need them, I will be sure to stop by.” He smiles tightly. Thankfully, when the lift stops next it is where Langley gets off.

“Well, it was a pleasure talking with you Healer Potter. Until next time.”

They stare each other down until the doors close again. Once they do, he is able to relax. Marginally. That man is sure to cause him problems in the future if this continues. Harry and Draco step off at the Department of Mysteries and Harry slows, remembering too much from the previous times he was here. It has always creeped him out and this time is no different. The sleek black stones along the walls always give him a sense of foreboding that he hates. If this were any other day, he would never have stepped foot in here.

“Go to the end of the hall. There should be a secret door somewhere around there.” Draco whispers, startling him. He goes where he is told. “Feel around the wall, one of the stones should be a trigger to open it.” There is a moment of silence as they both look for the stone. “Ah,” Draco says. “Here it is. Now, if I can just – there we go.”

One stone near the floor silently slides back before all of them give way and fold back onto themselves, similar to the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. The gaping black hole is not something that he wants to walk through, but he goes with determination. Ron is somewhere in there and he has to find him. A few minutes into the walk he feels Draco grab his arm.

“What is it?” he says. His voice is as low as he can make it, and it still seems to bounce off the walls, creating a thousand voices whispering back at him. He shivers despite himself.

“Here.” Draco breathes. “This is it. I can feel it.” Draco pulls him to the wall on their right. Harry doesn’t see anything, but suddenly there is a faint outline in the shape of a door that glows right before his eyes. He turns to where he hopes Draco is standing.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes,” he answers as the door melts away. Harry has no idea how Draco is opening all of these doors and passages; it must have something to do with his magic. 

He follows Draco as he is pulled into the room. The lighting is poor, but it doesn't hide how gigantic the room is. He can’t even see how far away the walls are. But what he sees makes his heart stop. People are strung up in rows and dominate the large space, hanging by their arms by invisible magic, unconscious. Men and women of varying ages, some dangerously close to being children, are aglow in a halo of magic. The light that surrounds them is focused on their chests, and he understands at once. 

As a Healer, Harry knows that the center of a wizard’s magic is in their hearts. From what he has learned from Draco, that is where the ancient magic lies dormant in a pureblood wizard. The only difference here is that no one is going through the pain that Draco went through in the earlier stages of this fucked-up experiment. 

Now, Harry knows what he must do. This must come to an end. He simply cannot let this go on with a clear conscience. There are too many here, and it doesn’t matter what they did during the war, the Wizengamot was supposed give each a fair trial and deliver justice, not make them a part of some Ministry secret project. But he has to find Ron first, he cannot continue until he knows his friend is safe.

He goes down the line of people, some he recognizes from the war, many he does not. The sight still makes his stomach roil. And how the hell is he going to get Ron down when he finds him? They all look to be hanging in midair; the magic of the Unspeakables has always been strange to him and he's never been able to understand it. He keeps looking until he notices that Draco is no longer beside him, and hasn’t been for some time.

“Draco?” he calls out quietly. He doesn’t know what will happen if he suddenly yells out and doesn’t want to take the chance.

There is no answer. Harry curses to himself. With the Invisibility Cloak, it will be impossible to find him. “Draco, where are you?” he calls, a bit louder.

“Here.” Draco’s voice is distant but loud enough for Harry to follow. He walks deeper into the room until he sees Draco’s head eerily floating in the shadows. He is about to say something when he recognizes who Draco is standing in front of.

“Oh, my god.” He says, shocked. It is Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. They were definitely not Death Eaters, even though their loyalties were with Voldemort; there wasn't even a trial for them. Harry hasn’t heard of them in a while, but he knows that they did not go to Azkaban. “Draco, I’m so sorry.” He knows that condolences will not help, but he gives them anyway. Draco is shaking his head.

“I didn’t know what happened with them. I thought they were out there living their own lives, moving on without me. All this time - I’m getting them out of here.”

It is on the tip of his tongue to ask exactly how he is going to do that, when Draco lifts his wand and closes his eyes. No spells come from his mouth, only a soft blue light blossoms from the end of his wand. The light washes over Pansy first and gets brighter the longer Draco concentrates on it. The brightness almost becomes unbearable before she is falling to the floor, thankfully it is not far. Harry bends over her immediately and performs his healing spells. She seems to be fine except for weakness. He casts _reneverate_ and she comes awake with a gasp and Harry is holding her, reassuring her and keeping her calm. He looks up in time to see Blaise fall to the floor and Harry does the same with him.

“What the fuck?” Pansy says, looking around her after she gets her bearings.

Draco whispers frantically to them, giving them the rundown of the situation. All Harry hopes is that they can get them out safely. Sitting back on his knees, he looks around. They have still not found Ron and he starts to wonder if he is even in here. He lets his eyes roam, and that is when he sees the shock of red hair. He springs to his feet and dashes over to his friend.

“Draco!” he shouts.

Draco is beside him, casting the same spell and Ron is hitting the floor. It is easier to wake him up than the other two.

“Ron, how are you feeling?” he asks. He is kneeling in front of him. Ron looks at him with unfocused eyes, before blinking several times and shaking his limbs.

“Dammit, Harry. I’m sorry. They were on to me from the beginning, I know it. Even after you told me what was going on, I thought I could still trust the Aurors. But there must be a mole somewhere, and I asked the wrong question of the wrong person. I was cornered one night when I stayed late. They overpowered me and then I don’t remember much after that. But I do know that it is definitely Fletchley, along with several other Ministry members. I had no idea it was this bad.” Ron looks around with much the same expression of disbelief as Pansy had. “Bloody hell, this is horrible.”

“You’re damn right, it is.” Pansy says from behind them. When Harry turns, he sees her cracking her knuckles. “They really thought they could get away with this?” Her face has an edge that Harry has never seen before.

Harry and Ron stand. “I will send a Patronus to Shacklebolt.” He waves his wand and the gigantic stag erupts from the tip of his wand. “Go to Kingsley. Ron and I are in the Department of Mysteries and we are in trouble, come right away,” he tells the stag. The silver animal bows its head and dashes off, disappearing before it reaches the door. Harry knows he can trust Kingsley; he just hopes he gets the message in time. “Come on, everyone, let’s get the hell out of here.”

They all make their way to the door and out into the hall without any trouble. Harry picks up the pace. Their footfalls bounce off of the hard walls, subtlety abandoned. The end is within sight and he almost breaks out into a run. But the faster he goes, the longer it seems to take him to get to the end of the hall and he growls in frustration.

“Harry, stop,” he hears Draco say from behind him. 

“Why?” he asks, turning around to see everyone still trying to catch up with him. Blaise, Pansy and Ron are still affected by the magic they were under.

“The hall is charmed, they already know we’re here and don’t plan on letting us out.”

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. One look around and he knows they’re screwed. The walls are seamless and bare. He has absolutely no idea how to get out of this part of the Department of Mysteries. “Ron, do Aurors still have tracking charms on them?” that could at least help Shacklebolt get his location.

“Yeah, it should still be active. I don’t think the Unspeakables are able to completely remove it.”

“If they haven’t blocked the charm from reaching beyond here.” Draco says. They all stare at each other, trying to think of something. Pansy throws up her hands.

“Look, there’s got to be a way out of here! I’m not staying here forever.”

Draco looks determined. “Ok, I’m going to try to get us out. I have to break this spell first.” He closes his eyes and after a moment, his entire body begins to glow. Harry knows that he is using the magic again; he can feel it reaching out to him and knows the others can feel it too. All it makes Harry want to do is pin him to the wall and ravish him right there. He shakes his head. This is not the time to be thinking about something like that.

Minutes tick by with no change, and they begin to wonder if Draco’s efforts will even work, when all of a sudden, Draco is grabbing at his head. 

“Ahh, shit!” he falls to his knees in complete agony. Harry reaches for him.

“Draco!”

His wand is out when he hears a deep laugh that seems to come from the very air itself. They are all standing alert, looking for where the voice is coming from.

“Did you really think that would work on us, Draco?”

From the darkness step many hooded figures, startling all of them. They press their backs together as they are surrounded. A lone shadow emerges from the mass of Unspeakables and they all recognize him. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Up until that moment, Harry still wanted to believe that it wasn’t him. He thought he knew Justin. They went to school together! But there is no denying the smirk on his face now, and the pure deviousness. His dislike and hate for purebloods is well known, so in principle it should come as no surprise, but it does anyway.

“Justin, why in the hell are you doing this?” He blurts out. Despite all of the questions running through his head, that is the first thing that he says. That is the one question that has been bugging him all this time. What is the actual driving factor behind the experiments? Justin looks at him like he is the crazy one.

“You of all people should understand, Harry. I thought you were on our side! It is time that someone showed these pureblood elitist that they no longer run the world.”

“And you think you do?” Harry says angrily. “What gives you the right to control their lives? You are just as bad as Voldemort himself.”

Justin laughs heartily, it makes Harry physically sick to hear it. “Oh, Harry. In time, you will see. Honestly, I’m practically doing the world a favor, and not even the great Harry Potter is going to stop me. _Inhabilitare!_ ”

He says the spell so fast, it is almost too late for Harry to react. “ _Protego!_ ” he shouts, and just in time. The unfamiliar curse bounces off the shield and hits one of the other Unspeakables, who instantly crumples to the ground.

“ _Deprimo!_ ” Harry says, waving his wand frantically. A great wind comes from his wand and knocks almost everyone down in front of him. He can hear Draco behind him fighting off the other Unspeakables that have them blocked off in that direction. This is a very bad configuration to be in, and with three of them unarmed, they are severely outmatched. Something has to give or they are going to lose.

He whips around when Pansy shouts in pain, grabbing at her arm. The spell has come from his side of the fight and he looks to see the few that weren’t blown over advancing on them. Harry snarls and is about to cast another curse when he is knocked to the ground. White-hot pain lances through his body as if he were boiling from the inside. It is incredible; he can hardly see it is so bad. He tries to get up, but once he does, the pain sharpens and he cries out. It is almost worse than being crucioed. Ron is shouting in his ear and grabbing at him, trying to get him off the floor, but the pain is preventing him from making out the words. It takes a while for his vision to clear, even though the pain has certainly not abated. He looks up to see Draco standing in front of him, tall and strangely intimidating.

There is that light coming from him again, but Harry knows this is different. He was aware that Draco had killed with this new power, but it is another thing for him to actually feel the intent.

“I have been waiting for this for a long time, Fletchley,” Draco spits. Harry redoubles his efforts to fight the spell and with Ron’s help, he is able to stand up. The curse is weakening, but not by much. A larger protection spell surrounds them, he can only guess that is Draco’s.

Justin laughs again, “Draco Malfoy. You were one of our great successes. Though it was in the early stages of the tests, you were the strongest we have ever seen. With your power, you could lead armies. They didn’t even know how to contain it and they were foolish to let the site get exposed. But no matter. You have literally walked back to where it all started and I’m not letting you out again.”

Draco snorts, “Did you not see what I did to all of your little scientists?”

The smile drops from Justin’s face, “Oh, yes. It was a right mess you left, Malfoy. You will be punished for that.” He tries to send a curse their way, but Draco wordlessly blocks it with very little effort. Harry really does believe that no one there is a match for Draco. He doesn’t understand what Justin is thinking, but he knows that his time is limited if he makes the wrong move.

Harry eyes Justin and puts his hand on Draco’s shoulder and he can feel the anger coming off of him in waves. This could turn very badly if Draco acts out of anger instead of thinking rationally.

“Draco,” he warns. There is no response and he thinks that Draco is just going to ignore him.

“Harry, this man is responsible for causing me much pain and suffering. I think it’s time for him to see what I can _really_ do.”

“You can’t kill him.” Harry says bluntly. This is the one thing that he cannot let him do. It is one thing for him to kill after he had been nothing but a specimen to them, only a thing for pain to be inflicted on. But it is another to kill in cold blood. Justin is a very important Ministry official, if Harry lets Draco kill him, it will be the end. There will be nothing Harry can do for him after that.

He feels Draco tense beneath his hand, and he squeezes Draco’s shoulder. Without warning, he feels the magic zing up his arm and he tries to snatch his hand back on instinct. He remembers when Dudley dared him to stick a knife in the toaster. The resulting electrocution had not been fun and reacted badly with his magic. But he is not able to remove his hand. Before he has a chance to panic, the magic washes over him and he experiences a calm such as he has never felt in his life. The pain from the spell disappears completely and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. He stands rooted to the spot as Draco fills him up in the most amazing way. 

“I won’t.”

Just those words are enough to convince him. Draco will not kill out of spite and he will definitely not ruin any chance of a free life he may have. Harry can feel that Draco is doing this for him too. He knows that Harry believes him to be a good person, underneath the mask and pretenses. Harry doesn’t just believe it, he _knows_ it.

When Draco turns his head from Justin, his face is carefully masked, but Harry can see the truth in his eyes and feel it in their connection. Draco really wants to believe it too. He needs to know that he is not an evil and cruel person. All Harry can do is smile, to reassure and tell him without telling him. They will have time to talk later; he will make sure of it.

“Enough of this! Get them, don’t just stand there!” Justin yells at his cohorts, losing all self-control. Everything happens at once, and Draco and Harry fight together to hold them off until Shacklebolt shows up. It is raging and relentless, but when they finally hear running feet coming from the end of the hall, it is all Harry can do not to fall to the floor in relief.

“Harry! Ron!”

There are several more curses, this time it is Shacklebolt himself, along with Roberts and Mr. Weasley of all people, and several Aurors. They quickly take down Justin and the other Unspeakables, and the fight is over all too quickly.

“This is absolutely unbelievable!” Shacklebolt shouts. He storms down the hall, robes billowing behind him. “What in Merlin’s name is going on here?”

Rather than waste time trying to explain it to them, they just take them to the room where all of the other captives are being held. Roberts and Shacklebolt are speechless. After sending Ron, Pansy and Blaise to St. Mungo’s, they start delegating to get all of the people down with Draco’s help. By the end of it all, Harry notices that Draco is sweaty and pale and decides that it is time for him to rest; he has done enough that day.

He goes over to Draco where he is leaning against the wall, clutching at his head. He gently pulls his hands away from his face. “Draco, I’m taking you home. We can resolve this tomorrow.” Draco looks up surprised, but then nods.

“Fuck, this was a shitty day.” Harry pulls him close and feels Draco relax against him.

“Yeah, but at least this is all over now. We've both got our friends back and you get to come home with me.” Harry says. Draco smirks, a small puff of breath rustles Harry’s hair.

“If you see that as a good thing.”

Harry moves so that they are looking directly at each other. “Draco, that is a wonderful thing, if you’re willing to stay.”

There is a pause in which Draco seems to consider it, then he grins. “I think I’m willing to see how it will go.” He bends down to press his lips to Harry’s and that is all the reassurance he needs.


	9. Epilogue

Weeks later, Draco is lying in bed. The day has been another long one, what with him settling his accounts and finances. Being absent and declared dead is more difficult to resolve than he would have ever imagined. It took him almost a week to get access to his vault in Gringotts and another get rid of the paperwork of death.

The frenzy that had erupted after the story of what happen to him and the others at the hand of Fletchley created a firestorm in the Wizarding World. The _Daily Prophet_ had a field day. The entire charade was coined “The Vestigial Project” by the clever minds of the _Prophet_. The whole idea of digging into the ancient genes of pureblood wizards became a huge philosophical and moral debate. All of which Draco made sure to stay out of.

For once in his life, Draco can say that he is content with his life. The decision to live with Harry hadn’t really been all that hard to make. He really didn’t have many options. Of course, there is his home at the Manor with his mother. But for reasons he didn’t need to explain to Harry, he didn’t want to go back there. He had visited his mother and they still have a lot of catching up to do, but for now, he is happier being as far away as possible.

He feels the bed dip as Harry slides in behind him. He smiles as Harry presses a kiss to his temple.

“You’re still not asleep. You don’t have to wait up for me, you know.”

Draco turns so he is facing him. He says this every time he comes home late from St. Mungo’s, but Draco doesn’t stay awake because he is worried. He simply wants to see him. 

“I know, but how else am I going to get my goodnight kiss?” he asks before doing just that. Harry laughs.

“Before this, I never pegged you to be a softie. It’s cute.”

Draco punches him playfully, “Oh, I’ll show you cute.” He moves to pin Harry down and ravishes his mouth with well-placed lips and tongue. It is not long before Draco is sinking down onto Harry and they are moving frantically against each other. Draco is fucked hard and fast and is coming all too soon. He falls heavily on Harry’s chest, unable to move, and Harry holds him tight.

“Merlin, I’ll never get tired of this.” Harry says as he rubs his back.

Draco’s chest tightens, “I certainly hope not.” He knows it’s silly, but he can never shake the feeling that Harry might one day cast him out. It’s not like Draco is not doing things for himself. He is starting to get his career together. He has always wanted to be a potions master, following in the footsteps of his mentor, Severus Snape. When he first told Harry the reason why he wanted his own apothecary, he thought he would be laughed at. But that was far from the truth. Harry was supportive from the start and even started looking for a place where he could open up on Diagon Alley. Despite all this, he is still unsure.

“Draco, I will _never_ get tired of you. You have brought so much in to my life and you have given me something I thought I would never have.”

Draco looks up at him. “What?”

“You make me happy. I know it’s crazy to even think, but I haven’t been happy with anyone before. Ginny and I never worked out and I thought there was something wrong with me. But you have shown me that I just had to wait a little longer. Draco, I want you to be happy and not worry about anything else, especially not me.”

He remains silent. Harry’s reassurance comforts him and he realizes that he is being paranoid. It will just take him a while to get used to the fact that someone actually wants him. But he is sure that Harry will be patient with him as he figures things out.

“Harry, I am happy. I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

Harry smiles, relieved to hear it. “Good. Now let’s work on you staying that way.”

The settle down for the night, with Draco still glowing in the aftermath of their lovemaking. He will have to live day by day, and this time he is not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, please leave kudos and a comment for the author!
> 
> You can leave comments below or on [Livejournal](http://bottom-draco.livejournal.com/1477673.html#comments).


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